


Stupid Fucking Feeling

by kohionegai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassin Peter Parker, BAMF Peter Parker, Brainwashed Peter Parker, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Cooks, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Cooking, Deaf Clint Barton, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Making Love, Marriage Proposal, Memory Loss, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Joins the Avengers, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker in Love, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker knows ASL, Peter Parker's Metal Arm, Peter Parker-centric, Peter-centric, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Smart Peter Parker, The Winter Spider, Violinist Peter Parker, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, just for a moment, make that a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kohionegai/pseuds/kohionegai
Summary: Peter doesn't remember a life before Hydra, but James talks about his. Peter doesn't think he can feel, but James teaches him otherwise. Peter doesn't eat or sleep, but James manages to get him to.Then James is gone. In a way, Peter is gone too.





	Stupid Fucking Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
English isn't my mother language and this is not beta read, I apologize for grammar mistakes and typos.  
However, I worked on this for about a month, I feel like it's decent enough.  
I hope you enjoy.  
Yours truly,  
Me.

Peter doesn't know what a life is supposed to be like. James had told him about his past experiences sometimes, but it all sounded too surreal. It sounded way too happy.

His very first memory is waking up in a cold bed; he was crying and screaming. He was a baby after all. But Peter's not very sure if he'd not cry if it happened with him older, because he could feel the liquid in his veins and it hurt. It fucking hurt.

They injected him like a laboratory rat which, to be honest, all of the residents were, not really caring if the serum would work or not. He could have simply died, he was way too young at the time, but he didn’t. The serum worked. He had been born again with weird powers and a very restricted list of things he was allowed and prohibited of doing.

He was trained well, a diet shortened of non-tasteful food and very few hours of sleep. He had to be a good Spider, a better Spider than the failed last ones, and a better soldier than The Winter Soldier. So he trained.

He couldn’t control his abilities very well in the beginning, he wasn’t a stupid kid but he had no one to advise him; the serum had never worked before, so no one really knew how to. He was punished for it, obviously, put in the white room that had nothing but books. Peter’s glad there were books at least.

They wanted him to be smart, so they put him in the white room, where he could study. They didn’t feed him, though, and he wasn’t allowed to sleep. When Peter wasn’t training, he was studying.

After a few years, he could control his powers just fine. Stick to walls and ceilings when he pleased, being careful not to do it at inappropriate times; lifted tons and tons of weight, jumped as high as Hydra requested him to, ran as fast as he needed to.

His enhanced senses were a curse, however. They were hateful when other subjects screamed and cried loudly; pleading mercy and forgiveness, making him want to tear off his ears.

They were hateful when the smell of blood would attach to his nose so strongly he wouldn’t know for how long someone had been dead or if they had or not been removed from the base.

They were hateful when the tasteless food would be bitter and not leave his mouth for so long he wondered how his teeth were still white and healthy. He suspected they did something to it every once in a while.

A lot of things were hateful with Hydra, like when they decided he didn’t need to study more, he needed to scream more. Like when they sent him on a mission and he would spend months outside, starving and sleep-deprived, only to come back to face the same old white walls or, when he was lucky, the gray dirty ceiling of the room where he would do nothing but bleed.

Then he meets James. The Winter Soldier. The one he’s supposed to hate with his everything, to surpass and be a better version of. But he’s perfect. He is perfect and Peter knows he can’t be any better than that whatsoever.

He’s gentle and kind. He’s different from the agents Peter had the pleasure to mingle with, because he doesn’t address him as a subject or a stupid alter ego or whatever those stupid names are.

They work together and James will slip a protein bar on his pocket during a mission, get him to sleep, teach him about what he remembers of the outside world. James will look out for him and train him too, and Peter realizes he will never be better than that.

He chooses not to, then. He chooses to be by his side, accompany him and listen to whatever he has to say. Peter never speaks much and James is okay with that; nevertheless, he ends up getting him to talk about how he feels and how his day went. Peter feels betrayed, but deep inside he’s glad.

He hadn't had a life before Hydra, taken away when he was only three. The only feeling he knows is pain. As a matter of fact, he simply doesn’t like to admit he feels a bit more than pain; agony, sadness, numbness, rage and love. Stupid fucking feeling, love is.

It's not like he's supposed to feel at all, being The Winter Spider, but he knows he can't control it either; he's not a machine (he's glad for James teaching him about feelings and how usually minds like theirs work). It only makes everything harder, but again, he can’t really do much about it under his circumstances.

Feelings are a confusing thing, Peter had decided, they’re complex and unpredictable; which makes Peter frowns every time he thinks about them. He prefers science, to be in control of his body, of something, to be able to explain and predict events beforehand.

He can't control them though, James had said. And Peter knows, because he feels love. He loves, cares, worries and he's disgusted at himself for feeling such things, from feeling at all. James merely smiles.

The next day, James doesn't greet him, staring coldly at him when Peter smiles. But Peter understands, he knows Hydra would never let such things as emotions control their soldiers.

Peter had never been on the chair, the agents had decided that he doesn't have what to fight for after all. However, James had, many, many times and Peter hates it. He hates he’s too much of a coward to act on it, too.

No matter how much times they try to brainwash James, he always comes back to him. Always. Peter loves him for it, he does, but he can't show it. He's too scared they'll put him on the chair too, and he'll forget how to feel. Don't get him wrong, he doesn't like to feel, but James... James makes it worth it. James makes him happy.

Peter kisses him.

* * *

"Готовы соблюдать," he says the following day, sitting on the chair.

The man in front of him grins smugly, leaving after explaining Spider's mission.

Spider doesn't understand what he feels, it's almost physical, but it's not. He feels like he's missing a part of him, like he's been broken and one of the pieces is missing.

He learns that night that The Winter Soldier had left, that he was a traitor. Spider doesn't know why, but his chest aches and silent tears fall from his eyes. He doesn't understand, but he allows himself to feel it, because something tells him he can't stop it.

The only things that feel right are his powers. He knows he's missing something, memories, maybe a life. Yet the fact that he's numb to the torture, that he's able to zone out completely and just let the pain fulfill him and not care doesn't make him want to remember what he's forgotten.

Spider obeys, because obedience gets him places. Places better than tied to a bed, staring at a gray dirty ceiling, the metallic taste on his mouth and the smell of blood distracting his mind. He kills, he tortures, he stalks, he does whatever they ask him not making questions, because something inside him is missing and he guesses nothing really matters if he doesn’t have it.

When he wakes up missing a whole week and an arm, Spider grimaces. He had been good, he had been obedient and silent; he doesn't remember the last time he used his voice.

"You desired an upgrade, Spider," the man that comes through the door with a file in hands says.

It's not bad, he'd dare say it's even better than his real arm, but it feels wrong. It's hostile and sometimes it'll move before he processes it. Sometimes he’ll feel like he has his arm, look down and stare at the piece of metal. Spider decides he needs to train if he wants to be in control of his body, at least.

He trains, trains and trains nonstop, not concerning about checking to see if he’s been left food or allowed hours of sleep, because he feels empty and he knows he can’t bare feeling wrong any longer.

A few months later, he wakes up breathlessly, gasping for air and remembering immoderately, not being able to do a thing but stare for moments enough. His mind, once blank, now flows of memories and feelings, making him go from Spider to Peter in a glimpse and feel overwhelmed by the amount of information he receives.

James, Peter remembers, James is what he misses.

He doesn't say anything; despite demanded to report truthfully his thoughts and actions, because he finally knows what he desires to feel right again. Had he been born with courage too much, maybe he’d seek for him.

* * *

Peter doesn't even bat an eye when he's asked to take down The Avengers. They had invaded their base and the alarms immediately rang, alerting and waking him up with a mission. He can’t really deny; he’s The Winter Spider, a better soldier than The Winter Soldier had ever been.

"Захватите их," the woman says, and if Peter notices how scared she looks, he doesn't say anything. "Если они сопротивляются, устраните их."

The mission seemed simple at first, capture them, the lady had said, and if they resist, kill. The only complication was that his targets were super soldiers, enhanced individuals and advanced technology. Worst case scenario he'd have to operate the only plan B Hydra's ever had.

If you don't eliminate your target, eliminate yourself.

Things were going well at the start; he sneaked up on them, webbed Iron Man to a wall, taking him and The Falcon down with a tranquilizer dart. He easily managed to dodge Hawkeye's arrows, the hero being clearly surprised by that, and took both him and The Black Widow down with two more darts.

Things went downhill when he sprinted at Captain America and another hero. The man looked oddly familiar, but not bad enough, Peter felt like he knew him. Like he had just found something, something he had had once, but was lost until now.

"Peter?" a quiet voice asks and Peter finally looks the man in the eyes.

Being reminded of what he chose to neglect and forget, Peter abruptly stops. "James?" he whispers hoarsely, as he hadn't spoken in a long time.

Captain America doesn't sense (or at least ignores) their emotional meeting, bringing Peter down as fast as he can. "You guys can talk later, when this man's in his right mind," he hears him saying, before being knocked out.

* * *

When Peter wakes up from his daily night terror, he's not where he's supposed to be. Well, at least not supposedly where he should be.

It's not Hydra, he figures, it's way cleaner and ten times more peaceful. He's chained, yes, but the chains don't tear off his wrists' or ankles' skin. It's also way brighter than he'd appreciate, his senses making him feel uncomfortable to a way higher level than the one he's used to when speaking about his vision.

He concurrently feels comfortable, well rested and healed from injuries, which is _extremely_ odd. He's still hungry though, and that rather calms him down.

Finally being hit by the memories he's missed, Peter takes a deep breath. James. He is with James, he has him back. He's presumably there, by his side, he assumes (hopes).

There's a 100% chance that The Avengers took him with them, so he's either with Shield or at their tower. However, Shield isn't this nice, so Peter decides he's at the Avengers Tower, New York, North America.

He's not loyal to Hydra, despite what many might think, much to the contrary; he hates them with his soul and mind. So when he hears about Shield, he investigates and half of the world makes sense after that. He couldn't escape; he knew that, so he'd do a lot of research on Hydra and Shield for his personal desires' sake.

He knew Hydra would haunt him down if he escaped, as well as Shield, so he decided it'd be good to know everything about both organizations, just in case.

He learned that Shield weren't exactly the good guys, more likely the neutral guys. They weren't good, like he's being well taken care of now, but they weren't bad, like he was being taken care of in Hydra. They'd be bad if required and good when needed.

They weren't a soft-hearted organization that would take in an ex-Hydra agent and take good care of him. They'd interrogate him, regardless if he'd be able to remember anything or not. They'd lock him up for days, a meal per day (already much better than Hydra, actually), waiting for him to collaborate with them. And that he would doubtlessly never do.

So Peter had opted on not escaping, not going after James, because he prefers to live hell in a place he knows than living an unpredictable life with Shield and people he did not know. Because he is selfish, he likes to be in control of things, and he was partially in control of his life.

"What's caught your mind?" The voice doesn't startle him, Peter noticing James the moment he enters the room, just choosing not to say anything.

_Regrets_, Peter signs, without looking at his lover’s eyes at all, still starring at the white and clean ceiling.

His lover, he contemplates what a wonderful way to say it. He wonders if they’re something even close to that after all that happened.

"I don't know ASL, Peter," says James, tiredness evident in his voice.

_I apologize for troubling you_, Peter signs again; but it's not directed at James, instead at the archer who just entered the room.

"I'm surprised you can sign with the chains," he says, taking a sit by his side.

James watches their interaction a little taken aback, should he leave?

_No_, signs Peter quickly when he reads James' posture.

James sends him a confused look, and Hawkeye smirks. "He said no, lover boy, to whatever you were thinking, I guess."

Peter nods at "lover boy", confirming himself that James had talked about him, and tries; _I hope your teammates understand the circumstances I was under when I attacked you._

And it's mostly to Hawkeye, but the hero translates to James anyway, "He knows you told us about your relationship and wants to know if the team knows he was brainwashed."

Peter ignores the fact that he didn’t sign anything about knowing about their “relationship” (he’s glad James thinks of it that way) and finally gets the courage to look his lover in the eyes, waiting for an answer, a word, anything from the man.

"I didn't wish to make you uncomfortable, Pete, but it's not recent knowledge. I missed and talked about you a lot, Steve's even hesitant about letting you stay because he's scared we'll try to make up for the time we've been apart," James smiles. "They understand too, they're familiar with you because of what I've told them and they also know that for the time we've spent together, you were never put in the chair."

Peter nods quietly. _It's alright_. He doesn't sign for a moment, wondering what is there to say. _They put me there only once, after I kissed you, after you left._

Hawkeye sighs. "How depressing," he says. "He was only ever brainwashed after you kissed, left or whatever, I don't know the full story."

James nods and Peter feels anxious. "Do you... still love me?" he whispers, startling the man with both his hoarse voice and question.

At that, Hawkeye leaves. James looks at him with passion and a sad smile. "Of course I do, Peter," he says and holds his hand.

Peter smiles, relieved but he won't say; he caresses James' hand and falls back asleep.

* * *

When Peter wakes up again, he realizes he didn't have a nightmare. He doesn't even remember dreaming. Looking at his side he spots James, still holding his hand, peacefully sleeping.

Before he can even think of a way to get up without waking James up, a voice coming from the ceiling interrupts, "Mr. Peter, Boss wants to know if he can come in."

Assuming Boss is Iron Man, Peter nods. The voice surprisingly didn't wake James up, and Peter finally calculates the time he was out: three days. Did James spend three days by his side, worrying?

"I'd say we speak low but I'm sure Barnes's already up anyway," Iron Man says, interrupting his thoughts.

Peter frowns. _No_, he signs; then, _can you understand me at all?_

It's Iron Man's time to frown, pulling from his pocket a phone. "I don't like not knowing what you're saying, so just type it here," he says and gives Peter the phone. "It'll be shown on mine," explains the billionaire, showing him his own.

_James is still asleep. Do not be loud. He is tired_, he types.

Iron Man smiles at the messages, confusing Peter with the reaction for a moment. "I guess you really are something, huh." Peter shrugs. "I don't see a reason why not to trust you, as much as I'd love to. Barnes always speaks fondly of you and, according to him and some research, you were only once brainwashed and managed to snap out of it. Am I right?" he asks.

Peter nods, trying to get his point. Is Iron Man trying to get him to be an Avenger, is he offering a place to stay or is he protecting James? The latter being completely ignored as an option, Peter just decides to wait.

"You can share a room with Barnes," he says finally. "No worries on being loud, walls are soundproof."

Peter understands it's a joke, but he can't help but send an angry glare at the man. He didn't get any chance to joke around with Hydra, irony being his only escape-rout (when he knew he’d not be punished for it); it does rather irritate him somehow.

The implication of him and James being disrespectful doesn't help much either.

"Just screwing with you, kid," Iron Man says, holding his hands up. "You and Barnes really work for each other. Oh, and off topic but how old are you again?

_Not joining your boy band, hero_, he types.

"Thought you didn't like joking around?" the man asks, raising an eyebrow.

_It’s not every day you get the chance to insult an untouchable person without actually being punished for it_, he smiles sarcastically as he writes.

"And I thought you're supposed to answer my questions," Iron Man snarls back. He seems insulted somehow.

Before he can type anything back, James speaks up, "I think that's enough."

Peter notices how Iron Man jumps from his place and silently thanks James. He had been awake for a while now, just after Peter asked Iron Man to keep his voice low (which he obviously didn't comply), listening to their conversation.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds by yourselves. You can release Peter, Barnes, but Friday will be keeping an eye on him," Iron Man says as he walks out.

And so Peter decides to switches from Iron Man to Mr. Stark, he is going to live them now, might as well not sound like an enemy or fan girl. As everyone in the base had to be referred to with “Mr.” or “Ms.” and variations, Peter thinks it’s better if he keeps the habit.

"Mornin', sweetheart," James says with a smile.

It's not morning, the opposite actually, the room's quite bright due to the lights but you can see the dark night through the windows.

Peter gets up and breaks his chains instantly, almost throwing himself at the man who sits by his bed.

"I love you," he whispers.

Tears start to roll on his face and James tightens the hug, he's only twice seen Peter cry: when he got to the base and when Hydra got James so bad they thought he'd not make it. The older man places multiple kisses on Peter's head as he silently cries, assuring him that they're fine. They're safe.

Their relationship is something else, Peter noticed once, because when James explained that couples kissed and had sex, he didn't say anything about feeling and acting like that, like they're each other’s only reasons to keep trying.

Perhaps all relationships are like that; perhaps all relationships are only sexual related. Peter doesn't know and sincerely doesn’t care, because he's happy with James the way they are. He's happy because James cares for him and he cares for James. They don't need each other simply to satisfy their needs, but because they've found comfort in each other’s presence and didn’t really care about things as kissing (that really went well when it happened, huh) and touching.

Because James comforts him with his night terrors, his panic attacks, his mind. Because James appreciates him and reminds him that he's loved, that he's cared for, that he matters. Because James smiles at him and tells him everything's going to be fine, he's going to remember him. Because James always remembers in the end.

"I'm so sorry," Peter cries quietly. James doesn't ask, waiting for him to elaborate. "You deserve so much better.

"I should've gone after you. I should've kissed you regardless where we were, should've spent nights with you," he pauses for a breath. "I'm selfish. I was, still am, scared of death, of pain, of the unknown. I was scared of the chair and of failing to find you and consequentially failing to keep trying. I felt so empty, so lost, so broken but yet I didn't go after you. I'm sorry."

He sobs involuntarily. James pushes him back, looking at his eyes."I love you," he says. "I love you so much. I love you more than I ever thought I'd be able to, for longer than I ever thought I'd be alive. You're the reason I'm still here, you made me hope. You're my hope, my life, my happiness, my everything, Peter. Please don't talk like that about yourself. It's alright that you didn't come after me, I'm glad you didn't; you may not be here right now."

Peter nods. He cries. He sobs. James takes him to his bedroom and they lie down together.

“Cuddling,” James defines, softly. “We’re cuddling.”

Peter feels safe around his lover's arms, the soft bed sulking him in and the blankets keeping him warm. He watches James slowly relaxing more and more, something he seems not to have done in a while.

Peter finds himself deeply feeling it again, the so called feeling: love. Perhaps it's not that stupid of a fucking feeling after all.

* * *

Peter ran over his head a hundred and seven possibilities of how The Avengers (or at least the ones who didn't know) would react to Mr. Stark's choice of letting him stay. Most of them had as a base at least one of them freaking out, the worst with all of them trying to kill him. He didn't know them, so he had to be ready for the worst.

He hadn't expected, however, them to nod at him when James walks him to the kitchen, and go back to their doings. Some even smile at him. That was the least probable possibility and Peter is way more surprised than he'd like.

James finally shows him how cereal, pancakes, eggs, food, look and taste in person. He could only imagine, when they were at Hydra, and James kept on describing the foods he loved the most.

They're all absolutely delicious, the pancakes, eggs, candies, everything. Peter doesn't eat much though, stealing a piece of this and that from time to time and finally getting himself some coffee.

He doesn't want not to eat, he actually does (more than he'd admit); he simply can't. His body is obviously not used to that food, that much food and Peter's not an idiot, so he takes it easy.

James still glares and frowns at him.

Peter’s neck tingles. He, without bothering to turn around, catches an arrow aimed at his back. Now, _that_ he had been expecting.

"Damn, I wish I could do that," Mr. Barton mumbles as he walks closer, grabbing it from his hands. "What's your last name, Peter? Friday keeps calling you "Mr. Peter" and if Tony's A.I. can't find a last name than only you can."

Peter understands that's how the man is, talkative, goofy and friendly; even though he does get pretty serious when working. But that doesn't make him feel more comfortable. _I would wish to know as well_, he signs.

"Whaat? You don't know your own name? Damn, now that's something you don't hear- wait, no, see every day."

Peter sighs. _I find it very difficult that finding ex-Hydra agents and taking them in something you see every day, hero_.

"You're mute?" a different voice asks. Mr. Wilson’s.

Peter shakes his head.

"Then why don't you talk?"

And being completely honest, Peter didn't foresee them acting like they're close friends of his and think he'd open up just like that. He grimaces.

"You just met him, stop asking questions," a voice that he recognizes to be Ms. Romanoff’s interrupts.

He nods at her thanks, to which she simply blinks. James puts an arm around him and brings him to the sofa, making Peter lay down on his lap.

"My bad, man," Mr. Wilson says, genuinely.

Peter shakes his head again, just wanting them to change subject. James starts to play with his hair and hum the same song he used to sing him back at Hydra.

It was a lullaby, a very old and lovely melody. James didn't remember how he knew it though, maybe he does now. It's calming and sad, despite meaning to cheer him up.

"Do you remember where it came from?" he mouths.

James nods. "My mother, when she tucked me in my bed, she would stay with me until I fell asleep and sing it to me. She'd do it every night, even when Steve was there."

"She sounds like an amazing woman," he mouths with a smile.

"She would've loved every part of you."

The team doesn't try to talk to him the rest of the day, thankfully. James shows him the tower, emphasizing their room, the training room and the music room. Peter lights up when he sees all the instruments, looking like it's been a century since they were last touched.

Peter was five when they decided he'd play the violin. It was the only thing Hydra actually let him do, the only thing he's thankful about them. The lady who taught him said they needed something else but screams and cries to listen to. No one objected.

At first, they practiced in a sound-proof room. They didn't want to piss everyone off right at the beginning and ruin the chance of something pure to hear. By the time he learned the basics she left and told him he'd have to try by himself.

He wrote marvelous songs, James said. The whole base got silent when he played and not one cry could be heard. They didn't complain, but they didn't thank him either. They still tortured and treated him the same. Peter didn't really care.

James silently admired and loved Peter's music. Playing since such a young age, at seven he already wrote his own songs. They were complex and they transmitted _something_. Most of the time, they were sad. Sometimes, though, Peter would let all his feelings loose and the song would make them tear up. Nevertheless, they'd never, ever say anything about it.

When James left, he stopped playing. He couldn't bring himself to even try, to even think of it. No one, regardless how much they missed it, asked him to keep playing.

By the time they enter the room, James had already requested Friday to play the music through the tower's speakers; only in the rooms where it wouldn't interrupt anything though. He needs someone else than him and Hydra to know how astonishing his lover's playing is.

Everything stops when he starts. He's not sure which piece he's playing, if it’s his or someone else’s, focusing on his mind instead, on his dull feelings. Peter decides that if he's not talking about everything that happened (he learned once this was the only way to let go), he'd have to get rid of it somehow.

So he plays. He plays his hurting, his sadness and his pain. How he felt when James left, after having him looking out for himself for fifteen years and being his only reason to keep up what he called a life. How he felt about all the suffering they went for, together and alone, about his night terrors and attacks caused by so distorted minded people.

He plays his fears, his insecurities and his doubts. How he felt every time they took James, every time he remembered him again and again, every time he came back covered in blood, his and the enemies’. How he felt about himself without James, without any purpose, any motivation, anyone to simply be there; how he felt being alone.

He plays his guilt and his rage. How he felt realizing it was all his fault, he shouldn't have kissed James. James cared and took care of him; he had been somewhat close to eighteen at the time, and yet James kissed back fearlessly. Then he was gone.

He plays his hope, his relief and his peacefulness. How he feels finally being safe, after all he's been through, after all he's ever known to be pain, negative feelings and thoughts. How he feels, without having to worry about his actions carefully, measuring every movement and breath, every thought. How he feels not worrying if Hydra or Shield are coming after him for leaving, because he has James; it doesn't matter if The Avengers will assist him or not, because James is there. And that’s enough for him.

He finally plays his love. The once called stupid fucking feeling, the one that made him realize he's human. He can feel. He's allowed to fall, to cry, to smile. How he feels having James with him, by his side, loving and caring for him regardless the two years apart, smiling at him like he's the happiest he could ever be when they're together.

How he feels being cared for. How he feels being in control of his life, being in control of his decisions; being able to see the clear, bright sky and the starry, pretty night. Seeing James smile, laugh, hug, kiss him so fondly, so affectionately.

How he feels being twenty years alive and finally free.

Peter exhales. He puts the violin down and looks at his (James') shirt, wet from the tears that yet hadn't stopped. He looks at James helplessly, whispering, "Sorry."

The older man shakes his head, not bothering to clean his face. "That was marvelous, love," he says. "I'm really proud of you."

Peter smiles, letting more tears fall and hugging James desperately. He repeats, "I love you," and, "Thank you," many times before Mr. Stark interrupts, entering the room in a rush.

"I didn't know you played," he breathes. "You should do it more often."

Peter nods, finally bringing his hand up to rub away the tears.

"Any other thing you can do we can know about?" Mr. Stark asks curiously.

_Many_, he answers, pulling his new phone from his pocket. _But I was the one who built my arm_, he ends up typing; maybe the billionaire would give him an opportunity to work with it somehow.

"You should stop by my lab sometime," Mr. Stark says before leaving, getting Peter to smirk.

He looks at James, silently asking where they should go. James only winks at him, walking them to his bedroom. They lie down, Peter's head on James' chest; the older man playing with the younger's hair.

"I didn't know you had a phone," James says.

"Mr. Stark wanted to know what I was saying," Peter whispers, closing his eyes. He simply breathes for a few moments. "I want to be able to talk normally."

James looks at his eyes. "Take your time, love. There'll be good and bad days, when you'll talk more than you've had all your life and when you won't talk at all. I'll be there with you until the end. Good?"

Peter nods. "I'll be there for you too," he whispers, placing a kiss on his chest.

James pulls him into a deep kiss. Peter's rather startled at first, but he goes with it. It feels good. It feels right. He wonders for how long James had waited for this; himself had shutting down instead of waiting. Had he looked for someone else? Had he had anyone else the time they've been apart?

Peter doesn't mind. Because right now, he has James and he's never been so in love. He’s never been so happy, so relieved, so in piece, so alive. So he kisses him back with the same urge, same devotion.

James touches him and he can't help but touch him back. He's gentle, he asks him if it's okay, to which Peter nods a few times. His touch is careful, delicate and pleasing. Peter's never felt such things before.

Then the word's back, love. Not with the same meaning though; yes, Peter's in love, he loves James, he's loving right now, but they're also _making_ love. And it's such a beautiful thing. How they feel and transmit their feelings through simple actions, making each other feel so wonderful. They're not in a rush, so they take it slow and at peace.

Peter's never felt so happy in his life.

James' never felt so glad in his life. For Peter, for a second chance and, he's never been really religious, but for whoever or whatever let them be with each other, free, alive and well.

They take a shower after with just few words exchanged, not really being necessary. James washes Peter's hair and back, Peter washes his. They don't do much else, a few kisses but nothing more. It's pure and calming. They relax and enjoy the moment, the silence and each other's presence, before heading to bed.

It's the best sleep they've ever had, and when they wake up, they smile at each other widely, murmuring, "Good morning," and, "I love you," a few times.

Peter grabs some of James' clothes, not owning any other than his dirty old uniform. "I don't mind. You look good in them and everyone can know who you belong to," James said when he offered buying some of his own. Peter smiled at the thought and they decided he'd live with James' clothes just fine.

They enter the kitchen quietly, hand to hand, and James teaches him how to make pancakes.

Ms. Romanoff comes in just a few minutes later, greeting them with a nod, saying, "Your music is wondrous, Peter," and sitting down to read a book.

"Thank you," he mutters and smiles. He's talking.

James puts the last pancake in a plate, looks at him and sighs, "We made way too many."

Counting them, Peter nods. There were approximately seventy. "How did we even...?" he questions quietly, still starring at the food.

They decide not to think about it and sit down. The whole team shows up, one by one, greeting them with a smile and a word, sitting down to eat. Mr. Barton is the one who asks, "How in the world did you two manage to make so many?"

They look at each other, then at the hero again. They shrug.

Mr. Stark smirks. "Well, I'm sure Cap can eat the leftovers in a bite."

Mr. Rogers sends him a disappointed glare before turning to the couple. "Thank you for the food, it's great," he says, turning now specifically to Peter. "You should play more often, Peter. Friday played it for us and I'll have to admit I had to hold my tears a bit."

Peter smiles. "I'm glad you like it."

No one comments on how low his voice is or how that's the first time he actually speaks in front of them whatsoever, and Peter's glad.

"Like it?" Mr. Barton scoffs. "Dude, it was fucking awesome! I've never been to an orchestra or to a violin concerto but you definitely should be in one."

Peter adds the idea to his to think about list, shoving down his throat another piece of food. Before James can poke him on the shoulder, he turns around.

"Does your metal arm sticks like your real one?" he asks.

Peter smiles; James looks like a child asking their parents the reason why the sky's blue. "Yeah, they actually put effort in this," he answers, swinging around the fake arm.

He had been able to play a violin just fine with it, plus he had learned on how to control it, he's surprisingly comfortable with it. Sometimes it'll pick on a nerve or fail to do something, but he easily fixes it.

"Sticks?" someone asks. Peter wonders how James hadn’t talked about his powers at all.

James looks at Peter as if asking for consent, to which Peter nods, mildly shrugging. "Peter was The Winter Spider back in Hydra, supposed to be a better soldier and more efficient than me," he explains.

The situation is awkward and tense, so Peter smiles softly, holding James' metal hand with his. "Well, we match now."

James smiles and everyone loosens up a bit. Peter likes their dynamics, despite the helpless curiosity of some; they all act like a big family. (Peter looks forward to joining it, but he won't confirm nor deny the fact.)

"So you're like a spider? Do you release web from your ass?" Mr. Barton asks.

Peter grins, dismissing James' angry glare at the man. "No, but I built web shooters that I use on my wrists."

That gets Mr. Stark’s attention. “Oh? I’d like to see that,” he says.

Peter nods quietly, he’d have to build it again later, but that’s not an issue. “I might need a few tools, if you’re willing to provide me, Mr. Stark,” he asks politely.

The billionaire sends him a sharp look. “Who’s Mister? Anyone here ever heard of it? Because as far as I know— which is pretty much, actually— we all live together here as a dysfunctional family,” he says.

Mr. Barton fakes a gasp, “How dare you call our family “dysfunctional”!”

Peter smiles, along with practically everyone at the table. He’s really lucky, he finally realizes. Had James not been on that mission, half of the Avengers would be either dead or caught right now; Peter would be most likely in the white room, pondering the innumerous ways he could find to eliminate himself with the present objects.

James, bless him, sensing his mind walking to a dark direction, pokes him in the arm. “Hey, Pete?” he calls.

Peter looks up at him, not worrying about giving a verbal response.

“Welcome to our family,” he says with a wholehearted smile.

Peter smiles genuinely, feeling much more than welcome, feeling safe and loved. He probably shouldn’t be thinking those things, bringing hopes up right at the second day, but he couldn’t really help it; the team is nice and they treat him like an old friend. Peter’s glad.

He learns a bit about everyone with time, learning about Clint’s relationship with the vents, Tony’s reckless behavior in general (by that he means the staying in the lab for 48 hours and more nonstop), Natasha’s ability to shut everyone up with a look and to pull out a knife from Thor knows where, Bruce’s habit to ramble about his experiments to himself, not caring about the looks everyone shoot at him for looking mildly insane, Sam’s and Steve’s little rivalry thing.

He learns more about them than he’d ever figure someone who barely just met them would.

He talks a bit about himself in return, feeling rather bad knowing so much about them and not allowing them to know a few things about him. He tells them the origin of his, as they call it, “Mister, Miss and whoever-you-might-be Complex,” which gets them trying ceaselessly to make him drop it and call them by their first names. He didn’t think it’d work at first, but it surprisingly does by the end of the day.

He tells them about his little habit of walking on the ceilings and walls at all hours without noticing, making them worry for their sanity if they get to see that while still sleepy. He shrugs, saying they’d get used to it eventually. James disagrees, cutting him off and saying he never really adjusted to it.

He also tells them, after some bribing that included more delicious food, about his need to be in control of something. He quickly adds they don’t need to worry, as he feels very much in control of his life at the moment, being able to make decisions freely.

“I don’t think Shield would agree to that but go off,” Tony says, partly joking.

Peter puts on a serious expression before stating, “I am not Shield’s.” 

The air suddenly gets tense and Peter wonders if he’s made a mistake, but Natasha actually chuckles. “I like him.”

Tony looks disturbed when everyone joins the laugh, because hell, Natasha chuckled, muttering, “Y’all’s sense of humor is really alarming.”

Clint talks about his family and a planned trip to the beach, then he gasps and asks, “Wait, Peter, do you even know what a beach looks like?” not giving him time to answer and shoving his phone on Peter’s face, chattering about the sea’s smell and sand castles.

“I’ve once killed three men with a glass of wine in a beach,” he deadpans, interrupting Clint’s babble.

The archer smiles, drops his phone and mumbles, “Nice.” He pretty much ignores the concerning confession and goes back to the trip he and his wife were planning. No one else comments on it.

By the end of the day, his throat hurts way too much to his liking. He winces when Bruce asks if he thinks his super healing would allow him to speak normally the next day. Probably, he should answer, but he’s way too tired to even think about talking at the moment, his limit being overpast hours ago. Instead, he shrugs.

Finally back to something close to his comfort zone, he throws himself at James’ bed, growling incomprehensible words. James smiles as he takes off his shirt, grabbing Peter bridal style and bringing him to the tub.

Peter giggles a lot, complaining in whispers about having an enhanced lover and how difficult that would make teasing, pranking and other things. James smiles and laughs with him, reasoning that his lover was also enhanced, so they were even.

Peter’s happy and that makes James’ happy, making Steve happy, consequentially making the whole tower happy. He hopes that, if it’s all a dream or illusion, he never wakes up.

* * *

The next day is as hard as they thought it’d be.

Peter doesn’t get up; he physically, emotionally and mentally can’t bring himself to do anything. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t walk, doesn’t move, hell, he barely opens his eyes.

James tells him he’ll be right back, heading to the kitchen for some breakfast. Greeting Steve and Natasha with a smile and a sleepy “Good mornin’,” he explains why Peter’s not with him and why he’s bringing the food back to bed. They nod, understanding quickly and not even questioning James’ choice of breakfast (two mugs of sugared coffee and about three packs of Pop-Tarts).

James feeds him and talks about how Steve was pre-serum. Peter’s not listening and he knows James knows that too, but his voice brings him comfort and makes him feel less awful. “Thank you,” he wants to say. He blinks.

James smiles anyway, understanding way too well his lover and putting down the food. He turns on the TV and puts on a random show with low volume, playing with Peter’s hair, humming the same lullaby he’d always sing.

They don’t do anything that day, and James knows days like that will happen again and again. He’s fine with it; he’d do it every day if that’s what Peter needs. It’s all worth it when Peter smiles at him and thanks him repeatedly, kissing him and looking okay.

It’s all worth it when Peter composes and plays to him, looking so majestic, so satisfied with his own music. When Peter comes to him one day, asking if he thinks it’s a good idea to try to join an orchestra, James smiles for three hours straight.

It’s all worth it when Tony arranges Peter’s own concerto, when he enters the stage looking solely perfect, when he plays for so long never losing composure and his smile at the end. His smile at the end is priceless.

It’s all worth it when, two years later, Peter finally joins the Avengers. Tony helps him build a suit, though it’s mainly Peter’s design, and they work it through the ideals of a super-hero. And James is so proud of him, so happy for him, for how he matured and changed.

He’s “Spider” now. So simple and yet so complicated. Although his complete name was “The Winter Spider,” his lack of triggering to the term is unexpected, as the name used to be how they sometimes referred to him back in Hydra.

“Are you sure about this, Pete?” Steve asks for the third time that day.

Peter shrugs, “It’s fine. Don’t really care.”

He signs some papers and they announce him to the world. They don’t hold a press conference and Peter thanks Ms. Potts to this day for it, he knows he’d have a sensory overload and it’d all go downhill. She smiles and tells him it’s no problem.

He saves people. Peter saves people. He never thought he’d ever even think about that but here he is, swinging around, helping old ladies cross the street, stopping robberies and murders. He blames James for softening him so quickly.

He still wears a mask, because he and the team know he can’t handle the attention. He’s never been to a party that had more than twenty people in it, never been in front of the cameras (Tony never allowed the audience from his concertos to get really close) and never really been friends with anyone else but his family.

It would be nice to say that the media doesn’t mind, but they do. They’re always following him around, trying to get pictures of him, trying to figure out who he is. Peter’s fine with that too, because he knows it’d be way worse if he didn’t wear a mask; he learns how to ditch the reporters and paparazzi within a week.

Peter’s living a happy life, it’s been two years since he “escaped” Hydra and they’ve never come after him. Nor Shield. That’s probably Tony’s doing somehow, but he never mentions it. It’s been two years since he started living with The Avengers and joined their family.

It’s been two years since Peter allowed himself to feel stupid fucking love.

Peter’s twenty two when James proposes.

They’re in Ireland, Tony’s treat, Cliffs of Moher. It’s night and the sky is as starry as it could be, they’re sitting on the edge, holding hands, looking up and wondering if they could just— stay like that forever.

“Peter?” James softly calls.

Peter hums in response, looking at his lover.

James shifts on his place nervously, grabbing something on his pocket. When Peter finally realizes what’s happening, James is already holding the small opened box to him, showing inside a so delicate, so cautiously done titanium ring.

It’s matte and has nine small diamonds on it. Peter exhales, not being able to hold back the tears. “Oh, god,” he whispers with a smile on his face.

James smiles, looking at him fondly, finally asking, “Will you marry me?”

Peter nods. He cries. He nods again, jumping on James and saying, “Yes,” at least five times before James pulls him away, laughing.

“I love you,” James says as he puts the jewelry on Peter’s ring finger.

Peter can’t stop giggling and crying as he puts the other ring on James’ finger. “I love you.”

Peter’s emotional for the whole rest of the trip. James takes him to an expansive restaurant, there are rose petals everywhere, there’s a pianist and Peter finds himself crying again. He laughs at himself and at James, for being so caring and so thoughtful.

When they get back, Peter throws himself at Tony, repeating, “Thank you,” so many times Tony is concerned for his breathing.

His family, his team, congratulates them and some even hand them a few gifts. Peter even got shoes for the ceiling only, so they would remain clean and without footprints all over it. They all drink together that night, even though most couldn’t get drunk, and celebrate their— “Finally!”— marriage.

“Well, I guess I have a surname now, Clint,” Peter says.

They all look at him, remembering they never, ever even searched for Peter’s name. Sure, they looked over some files but didn’t bother to go further after a name. It was just a name, after all.

“Peter Barnes fits you well,” Nat says with a smirk. “Though I’m sure there’s a Parker in the middle of it.”

Peter and James look at her and chuckle. The rest of the team watches the scene, unsure of what was happening. Sam is the first one to throw his hands up.

“You knew your name all this time?”

The three of them shrug. “Yeah.”

Then a drunken Clint starts to cry and ask how they could’ve betrayed them like that. Nat smiles, not answering, and James and Peter switch looks, looking back at the team with another shrug. “It just never really came up after that day.”

They drink and laugh all the way through the morning, joking around, gossiping and talking nonsense, simply having fun, until Ms. Potts comes in, at eight a.m., telling everyone to go to sleep but not on her usual tired tone.

When they’re alone for a moment, she congratulates him and he thanks her for everything.

“You’re family, Pete,” she says with a smile.

When Peter finally lies on their bed at the tower and watches James fall asleep, thinking about all they’ve been through and all they’ve done for each other, Peter can’t help but wonder how the hell he got so lucky.

That day, Peter dreams about a child.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
"Готовы соблюдать." = Ready to comply.  
"Захватите их, Если они сопротивляются, устраните их." = Capture them. If they resist, kill.
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable reading this, so if you feel like I'm missing a tag, please tell me!  
Feel free to comment on my mistakes, too.  
Thank you for reading!


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